


Reaching for Blair

by elaine



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things Jim can't bring himself to ask for, no matter how much he wants them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching for Blair

Blair doesn't look up from his book as Jim comes to stand in the doorway, although Jim knows he's aware of his presence. He leans against the frame, arms folded. His knee's aching like a bitch, but he waits patiently – or, as patiently as he can. One minute. Two.   
  
Just shy of three minutes, by Jim's estimation, Blair looks up, an expression of mild surprise on his face. He hasn't turned a page once in all that time, so it's patently obvious to both of them that he hasn't been reading, only delaying the inevitable. He smiles blandly at Jim and waits.  
  
“I'm,” Jim gestures vaguely upwards, “uh, turning in early.”  
  
“Okay.” Blair glances down at his book, then up to Jim's face again. “You want me to…?”  
  
“Yeah.” In his relief, Jim rushes the response and there's an awkward moment when neither of them knows what to say.   
  
Then Blair shrugs slightly and glances down at his book again. “I'll just, you know, finish the chapter.”  
  
Now that he's got what he wants, Jim relaxes a little. “Sure. No hurry.”  
  
As he limps up the stairs, Jim's tempted to review the whole, painful conversation in his mind, looking for subliminal clues he was too distracted to notice while it was happening. He resists the temptation. Blair's agreed, and that's all that matters.  
  
***  
  
By the time Blair comes upstairs Jim is almost asleep and, when he hears Blair's quiet footsteps he wonders if that was the plan. He pushes the thought aside. He can't afford to keep thinking like that. It's almost lost him his job, his friendship with Blair; he can't keep making the same mistake over and over again.  
  
Blair pauses at the top of the stairs. He's undressed for bed – a baggy old t-shirt and boxers are all he's wearing. His hair's wildly mussed from dragging his sweater off over his head. It's an endearingly familiar sight and Jim summons up a smile just that little bit more easily. “Hey, Chief.”  
  
In return, there's a slight deepening of the dimples in the corners of Blair's mouth; as much of a smile he seems willing to allow lately. “How do you want to do this? Are you sure your knee's up to it?”  
  
In the twenty minutes or so he's been lying in bed, Jim's knee has stopped aching quite so much. He shrugs. “It'll be fine as long as we don't put too much pressure on it. I could lie on my side.”  
  
Blair comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He perches there gingerly, as though he hadn't done it a thousand times. “No. You'd better lie face down.”  
  
Jim's pretty sure it's not concern for his knee that prompts Blair, but he swallows heavily and rolls onto his belly. Maybe Blair's right. He usually is about this kind of stuff, and god knows, Jim's not about to argue with him right now.  
  
He relaxes into the mattress with a sigh as Blair lifts the comforter away from his body. He's already naked and half hard in anticipation. He listens to the familiar, comforting sounds of the nightstand drawers being opened and closed and things being taken out.  
  
“Here, you're gonna need this.” He moves at Blair's gentle nudge, and drags the soft towel under his hips, settling back onto it with a sigh. Blair's hand, slightly oily, slides down his spine. His touch is firm but easy, and Jim relaxes even further.  
  
For a few minutes there's nothing but the whisper of skin against skin as Blair kneads the knots from between Jim's shoulder blades and it's almost possible to believe that things are back to normal.  
  
Normal, of course, is relative. There's nothing particularly normal about this aspect of their relationship, but Jim's gotten used to it and he's more willing, now, to take whatever he can get.  
  
Slowly, the massage transmutes from therapeutic to sensual, Blair's hands slowing, molding themselves more intimately to the curves of Jim's body. So far, Jim's lain still beneath those hands, but now he allows himself to move with the pressure, rocking his hips languidly into the towel. If he dialed up right now, he'd be able to feel each individual loop of the timeworn terry against his cock. He doesn't dial up – his control is too tenuous right now to risk it.  
  
Blair's hands still on his hips and there's a brief sigh before he moves away. Jim cracks an eyelid open and sees Blair standing beside the bed, cleaning the oil from his hands with an aloe wipe. He closes his eye again and listens to the rustle of cloth as Blair strips.  
  
A soft click releases the scent of lube and moments later Blair's hands are back, one on his hip, the other probing carefully between his ass cheeks. Jim moves his legs further apart, burying his needy groan in the pillow.  
  
“Are you okay? Talk to me, Jim.” Blair's voice is sharp. “It's been a while.”  
  
It sure has. At first they were barely speaking to one another; or, more accurately,  _Jim_  was barely speaking to Blair. But, with Naomi downstairs, nothing was going to happen anyway.  
  
But Naomi's been gone over a week now, leaving with many a long, troubled look, though she'd said nothing about her son's decision to become a cop. Jim knows damn well she hated the idea, but she'd also lost any right to object the moment she'd screwed up Blair's life by sending his dissertation to Sid Graham.  
  
Jim's reward for screwing up Blair's life is, ironically, to get what he'd wanted for years – Blair at his side permanently. He hopes it's worth the cost.  
  
“Jim?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine.” He's been waiting for Blair to take the initiative. That's how their relationship usually works, but after a week of troubled sleep and increasing irritation, Jim finally decided to make a move. Maybe it's what Blair wants. At any rate, he's got what he wants and Jim isn't about to argue with the results; not when Blair has two fingers up his ass, working him like a five hundred dollar hooker.  
  
“Okay. Just checking.” Blair's breath is coming a little faster. Audible even without his senses cranked up. “How's your knee?”  
  
Jim swallows his frustration. Blair's been hovering solicitously ever since he got shot and it's been grating on his nerves. He hasn't dared snap, and that's just made it all the more annoying. “My knee is just peachy. You want to stop playing doctor here?”  
  
Blair chuckles softly. “I thought that was what you wanted, man.”  
  
The sound releases something inside him and Jim chuckles too. “So what am I? The nurse?”  
  
“Well, I wouldn't call you patient, Jim.” Blair's almost sniggering now. Maybe this was a better idea than he'd realised. “You ready?”  
  
“Sure.” He holds his breath as the mattress moves under him. A pulse beats, hard and low in his belly; soon, soon… Blair's kneeling between his legs, and Jim hears the snap of latex. Oh, god… soon…  
  
And, yeah, there's the nudge at his ass, and he's open, but not open enough to take Blair's dick without a bit of discomfort. Just enough to tell him that, yes, he's being fucked, and he's definitely going to feel it afterward.  
  
Blair knows exactly how he likes it. Just like he knows how Jim likes his coffee. Just like Blair knows everything about him. Once that used to freak him out, but now he takes comfort in it. Blair knows everything about him, and Blair's still here.  
  
It's almost enough to make him feel secure.  
  
Jim pushes the thoughts aside. He wants to feel this, not to think, and it feels damn good – the soft, echoing thud of Blair's heartbeat inside him, the scent of sex in the air, so strong he can taste it, the whoosh of blood through Blair's veins. His senses are opening up, reaching out, and his control is suddenly rock solid for the first time in two weeks.  
  
He's tempted to slide his hand under his belly, to take his dick and jerk himself into a stupor. He doesn't, because hungry for sensation as he is, he'd still prefer to make it last. And because it would really piss Blair off. Instead, he pushes his hips forward, grinding his dick into the towel and when the climax begins he rides it all the way to oblivion.  
  
***  
  
Blair's still inside him when Jim surfaces again. Sated now, Jim is more able to focus on what's happening. What's missing. He can hear the harsh, effortful breathing, smell the sweat and the latex and his own semen. He can feel the steady, forceful thrusts of Blair's dick. Feel it rub against his prostate, sending fierce little jolts along his spine. Blair groans, burying his face against Jim's neck and Jim feels the wash of moist heat on each exhalation.  
  
His ass is burning now, the lube not enough to ease the friction, and it's gone past enjoyable into discomfort. It'll be worse in the morning. Jim mutters Blair's name, and the weight on his back eases a little as Blair pushes himself up on his elbows. Now Jim can feel each individual drop of sweat as it shatters against his skin.  
  
He wants to end this, and he can tell Blair's on the cusp. It won't take much. Jim clenches his ass around Blair's cock and hears a sob. So close… he does it again, and again, each time Blair is buried to the hilt inside him, releasing as he withdraws. It only takes a handful of times and then Blair's shaking, coming to pieces against his back.  
  
With a final soft moan, Blair collapses on top of Jim, a hot, damp, furry blanket, so heavy Jim struggles to breathe. He knows he's in no danger, but the confinement sends tendrils of unease twisting deep in his belly. He bears it as long as he can, then squirms awkwardly, still trying to protect his knee.  
  
“Sandburg…” and that was the wrong name to use. Blair's body tenses against his back and then Blair's withdrawing, his dick still hard, and Jim feels it keenly. Not just the raw sting of his asshole, no… without Blair inside him, he feels lost, adrift. He's never been so aware of how much he depends on Blair to anchor him; and not just his senses, either.  
  
But it's too late now. He's killed the moment, and it's irrecoverable. Like so many things, so many people, in his life. Except that Jim's never been able to accept Blair's loss, even when it's as final as that day at the fountain. He can't lose Blair, just  _can't_. And so he does the unthinkable – because the alternative is worse.  
  
Blair's sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching for his discarded underwear, and once he's got it, he'll leave, like he always does. He'll go downstairs and sleep in his own bed, because that's their unspoken arrangement. No sleeping together, no kissing, no romantic shit. That's what they'd agreed on – “No romantic shit, okay, Chief?” and Blair had nodded, his eyes wide, his heart racing. Wanting him and willing to agree to just about anything to get him.  
  
That was the way Jim had wanted it at the beginning. There's a part of him that still wants it that way, but it's overruled by the part of him that wants Blair. That wants him with a desperate need; that tells him Blair is as necessary to him as breathing. He resents it, but he's finally realising that he doesn't have to resent Blair as well. It's  _his_  problem; he'll learn to deal with it.  
  
Careless of his knee, Jim twists himself, pushing up from the bed. Reaching for Blair, because it's in his nature to reach for Blair and he's not going to fight it any more. His hand brushes against Blair's shoulder, fingers scrabbling for a firmer hold that he's not quite close enough to achieve.  
  
“What, Jim?” Blair doesn't turn, and his voice is weary, trembling. “I'm tired, okay?”  
  
“Don't go,” Jim forces out of a throat that doesn't want to cooperate. “I want you to stay.”  
  
At that, Blair does turn and his eyes meet Jim's, a faint spark of curiosity shining out of a blank, almost lifeless face. “You… what? You want me to…?”  
  
“Stay.” He pats the mattress beside him. “It's late and… and I…”  
  
“I thought…” and Blair shakes his head. Confusion, not refusal, but Jim's heart misses a beat. “What's going on Jim? Is it your senses?”  
  
He's almost tempted to say yes; because that's something they both know how to deal with. Jim doesn't know how to deal with this new knowledge, doesn't know how to deal with Blair's pain, Blair's needs. He shakes his head.  
  
“I just want you to stay. Is that so hard to understand?” It comes out much surlier than he intended, but Blair's used to ignoring Jim's surliness. He waits, hope warring with fear, until Blair lets his shorts drop to the floor and wriggles himself under the covers.  
  
They lie a careful two inches apart, both of them in new territory and not really sure what to do about it. Maybe they should just sleep. Jim reaches across Blair to turn off the lamp, but hesitates at the last minute. He can't leave them both hanging like this, not if he wants any sleep tonight, and he can't expect Blair to make the next move. This was his call, his cards to play.  
  
He drops his hand to Blair's cheek. It's a long time since he's touched Blair like this. Not since they started having sex. It was as though he could allow himself intimacy or sex, not both. Not, at least, with Blair.  
  
Now he stares down at his fingers caressing Blair's cheek; at the way Blair subtly leans into his touch, the way his eyes close, as though he's afraid of what he might give away. God. He could have had this months ago. He's been such a fool.  
  
“Night, Chief.” He turns off the lamp and lies down, facing Blair. In the darkness he can still see the aching disappointment on Blair's face. But maybe in the darkness he can take a risk he'd never consider when the light was on.  
  
Blair's lips taste of salt but inside, his mouth is sweet and hot. He opens willingly to Jim with a helpless little moan but he's strangely passive, until Jim starts to withdraw. Then everything changes. Blair's lips are on his mouth, on his jaw, everywhere; mapping the contours of his face, throat, determined and possessive. He's given Blair the inch that entitles him to take a mile.  
  
When Blair finally backs away, panting, Jim is smiling. “Good  _night_ , Blair.”  
  
He settles onto his back, the only position he can sleep in without aggravating his knee. After a moment Blair sinks down next to him, still a little breathless, mutters something indistinct and is immediately asleep.  
   
***  
  
In the morning, Jim wakes first. His knee is aching and his ass is burning as much as he'd anticipated. Blair is plastered against his side, arms and legs draped over him, just like he somehow knew they would be. And instead of feeling claustrophobic, he feels just fine. He spits out a mouthful of hair and grins like an idiot.

 


End file.
